Time
by ForeverVying
Summary: "She screamed. It was not from the physical pain.  It was from the shock. The shock of seeing how one human being could do something so cruel to another. It was the realization that she really was deemed as inferior to them."
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Introduction: Hermione is captured by Yaxley when she, Harry, and Ron are trying to escape the Ministry of Magic without being caught. After being sent to Malfoy Manor, she is forced to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry against her will. **

**Rated M for very mild sexual situations, language, and dark themes.**

**AN: I suck at summaries, sorry! It took me a really long time to actually have the nerve to post this up, and it took me a full two months to write, edit, re-write, edit, and re-edit this first chapter. I know it's still not perfect, but it was well worth the effort. Updates will be slow; I won't deny that with schoolwork and such. However, comments are fully appreciated!**

**Please enjoy (:**

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><p>Harry Potter was an incredibly odd child, perhaps because of the fact that he was born a wizard and was famous throughout the wizarding world. Perhaps he was incredibly odd because he was the youngest student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to make the House Quidditch team in a hundred-years. Perhaps he was odd because he was the only known wizard to survive the killing curse, Avada Kedavra and because he was widely known as the man soon to bring on the demise of Lord Voldemort.<p>

Or perhaps, he always managed to get into sticky situations like the one he was in now, with his two best friends Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. Stuck in an elevator in the Ministry of Magic, disguised as an employee by use of the Polyjuice Potion that Hermione had so brilliantly brewed. Polyjuice Potion that was currently wearing off. "Harry, we have to get out of here as fast as possible," whispered Ron behind him. Harry turned to look at him with a look of feigned incredulity. "You don't say?" he answered sarcastically.

The elevator speaker pinged, signaling that they would arrive at the next floor soon. "Second Floor, Department of Magical Maladies and Wizarding Artifacts." The remaining witches and wizards piled out, squeezing past the magically disguised teenagers, before the elevator doors shuttered to a close. "Oh no, we look just like ourselves," moaned Ron, staring at his hands.

Ignoring the red head, Harry spoke to them. "Okay, so here's what we do. Keep your heads down when we exit the elevator. With some luck, we might be able to get to the fireplaces in time."

"First floor, main lobby of the Ministry of Magic. Have a nice day," said the same mechanical woman's voice.

They all exited, walking as fast as possible to the fireplaces which were a frustratingly long way off. Harry held his hand in front of his face, eyes darting from left to right checking to see if anyone recognized them. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor, and he accidentally stepped on it. Looking down, he found himself staring right into the face of his own, with the words "Undesirable Number 1" plastered right underneath it.

Looking back at it a few years later, he should have known something was going to go wrong.

"Hey, hey, is that Harry Potter?" came a man's voice, shouting to catch the attention of everyone in the lobby. "Harry Potter?" came the murmurs of every witch and wizard in the facility. Hermione's head swiveled around, but instead of looking at all the curious and alarmed stares she was receiving, she stared straight into the eyes of Yaxley, a known Death Eater. For a second, he stared right back, grey eyes widening in surprise before he started running full sprint towards them, pushing people out of his way. His face broke into a snarl, barring his teeth as he seemed to part the crowd.

"Harry, Harry, we have to run, Yaxley's behind us!" yelled Hermione, her voice increasing in volume as they hurled towards the fireplaces. She looked back, her hair whipping in her face as she tried to take in her surroundings. All she saw was a myriad of colors, as objects became distorted, light pouring in from the window at the top of the dome-shaped ceiling of the lobby. People flew by in a whirl of shapes, each object blending in to each other as they ran at a break-neck pace. She squeezed her eyes close in an attempt to clear her vision, and opened them again.

She wished she had not.

Yaxley, being a man of tall stature, consequently had longer legs and was gaining on them slowly but surely. Behind her, she saw Harry trip and fall, arms splayed out in an effort to cushion his fall. Ron swore, a string of profanities exiting his mouth as he ran to pick up his struggling friend. "Harry, come on, Yaxley's gaining on us, we have to move!" he yelled, pulling Harry up with an enormous heave. They grabbed Hermione's hand, their gazes locked on the fireplaces before their faces morphed into horror as metal gates started sealing off every single one of them. "We can still make it, there's still one left!" yelled Harry, his legs carrying him forward even though he felt like they would collapse at any given second.

Ron disappeared first as they flew into the fireplace, emerald green flames licking up his body before he was gone. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand, both hurling themselves in before the metal gates could close. For a split second, Hermione felt relief, thinking that they were safe, that they could go back to Grimmauld's Place and laugh in a dazed stupor at how they got out of such a sticky situation.

It was not meant to be.

Her breath caught in her throat when Yaxley caught hold of her ankle. Time seemed to stop as she stared into the face of a triumphant Yaxley. It was the last thing she saw before they were whisked away. She felt like she was being stretched in one way, pulled the other, but she could not concentrate. They arrived with a pop on the steps of Grimmauld Place. For a split second, Harry and Ron stared, mouths agape, in horror when they saw the towering form of Yaxley in front of them, wand pointed directly at Hermione's throat. She looked up into the face of the Death Eater, seeing how his black eyes glinted maliciously in the afternoon sun. He pressed the wand deeper into her throat, making it distinctly uncomfortable for the squirming witch he held in his grasp. She stared Harry and Ron in the eye one last time, before the familiar feeling of being compressed enveloped her senses.

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><p>Ron stood stock still, unable to tear his gaze away from where Hermione had been standing seconds ago. "Her ... Hermione. Hermione. HERMIONE!" he yelled, his breaths ragged and shallow. "HERMIONE!" he continued to bellow, as if yelling her name would somehow bring her back. "Hermione ..." he moaned into his hands.<p>

Harry stood rooted to the spot, an unpleasant feeling starting to bubble up from his stomach. He felt his hard twisting and clenching, like someone was forcefully grabbing it. He felt sick to his core. Guilt washed through his prone body; an overwhelming, incapacitating guilt that seemed to gnaw at his insides. He was at fault. He was the reason why Hermione was now captured. Had he not fallen, they would have been able to escape faster. He stared at the spot that Hermione was standing. His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. Why did he always manage to screw things up? Why did things just always seem to screw up at the last possible moment, when all seemed to be going perfectly smooth? Then the realization hit him.

Why in Merlin's name was he still standing here doing nothing?

Grieving was natural; yes, it was programmed for one to grieve when someone is lost. But given the situation they were in, given the circumstances, their time for grieving was cut drastically short. They were wasting precious, precious time standing there. Time they could be using to find a way to destroy the Horcrux they acquired, or time they could use to find a way to rescue Hermione. Time was of the essence, because as every second ticks by, they were losing the battle- losing to Lord Voldemort, and giving in to perhaps the greatest enemy to them all: fear.

"Ron ... Ron, I know you - no, both of us - feel bad right now. I know, Ron. But we have to go. Yaxley's a Secret Keeper now, hundreds of Death Eaters can apparate here at any moment. It's better if we get out of here as soon as possible."

The words Harry spoke seemed to reach Ron through a thick fog. The words muddled in his mind, creating incoherent sentences. Go? Secret Keeper? Death Eater? They were words unbeknown to him. Foreign.

"Ron, it's what Hermione would want us to do."

Hermione. That word registered in Ron's mind, clearing through the thoughts swirling through his head. Hermione. He blinked twice, before heaving a sigh. "Hermione," he said, repeating her name.

"Are you okay, mate?"

Silence ... then, "Yeah ... yeah, I'm fine, Harry. We- we should go now."

Harry stared at Ron, watching his dazed expression. He went inside to tell Kreacher to escape, find a new place to live, and grabbed their things. He grabbed Hermione's belongings for good measure, just in case. He stepped back into the bright sunlight, feeling it warm his face. Ron was leaning on the wall, arms crossed as he gazed at nothing in particular. His mouth was pulled into a frown, with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry remembered Hermione had told him that she thought Ron had the emotional range of about a teaspoon. How ironic, that certainly was not the case now. Harry clasped his best friend on the shoulder, mouth set together in a thin line, his jaw muscles flexing. "Let's go, Ron."

They disappeared with a loud pop, leaving behind their first home since they had left Hogwarts. Such was the sacrifice of war.

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><p>Hermione found herself standing in front of a cobblestone path leading to what she assumed was the Death Eater's headquarters.<p>

She felt the tip of a wand press into the back of her head, heat permeating from the point it made contact with her skin. She felt Yaxley's mouth bend toward her ear, whispering to her in a voice that made her want to throw up. His breath swarmed in front of her face, making it almost unbearable. His voice came out in a hiss. "I wouldn't struggle if I were you, my sweet. I seem to be in a position of power, no?"

Hermione's eyes widened as she searched her pocket for her wand.

"Looking for this?" mocked Yaxley, holding up her wand. "What a silly girl! You think I would forget to take your weapon? You are mistaken, my sweet." He chuckled quietly to himself; a small, almost indistinguishable chuckle. "Now do as I say, or you'll be dead even before I say Mudblood." Yaxley straightened up, patting his robes, before quick as a snake, so fast that Hermione did not even see it coming, his fist connected with her stomach. Her mouth formed an tiny O, the wind forced out of her with the impact. The Death Eater standing before her threw her a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, so sorry," he apologized amiably.

He pointed her wand straight at her face. It was a foreign feeling to Hermione; she never had to face someone without having a weapon of her own. "Walk until I tell you to stop."

She obeyed. There was nothing she could do. Yaxley was a full head taller than her, and trying to take him on physically would just exhaust her energy. She watched the snaking path lead up to a looming structure, a large manor with Victorian style architecture with large, towering marble columns that rose from the ground all the way up to support the roof. The building was magnificent, gorgeous in its architectural details with large, colonial style windows, and yet, the building held no warmth. This was not a home; this was, in all sense of the word, a prison. And that prison was just about to get its next inmate.

"Stop," she heard Yaxley say when she arrived at the entrance. She saw him raise his wand out of the corner of his eye, and pointed it straight at herself. She felt a tingle of fear, before a rush of adrenaline kicked in. Gone was the rational part of her mind; it was replaced with an instinct to protect herself. Her heart felt a thrill of terror when Yaxley started moving his lips, and she started to break into a run before she felt strong hands clamp around her mouth, pulling her towards Yaxley until she was flush against his heated body. "Stand _still_, you fool!" he said vehemently, his hand muffling any sound that tried to escape her lips. He chuckled, a low sinister chuckle as she struggled to escape, squirming against the cage that was his body. "You rather like this, don't you?" He pushed her off of his body, and Hermione spun around, her finger pointed straight at his face as she struggled to catch her breath.

"You are the lowest of the low," she spat at him, her chest still heaving from unrestrained gasps.

Yaxley smirked at her. "I know," he said smugly. He raised his wand once again, and muttered a spell. Hermione felt as if something like warm liquid was seeping through her body, making the tips of her fingers tingly. "Walk," he commanded. She raised her eyebrows at him. "I said walk!" he shouted again, this time pushing her towards - no, _through _- the doors of the Death Eater's headquarters. She looked back as she saw first Yaxley's foot, then his arm and finally his body and face emerging from the seemingly solid wood. "Incarcerous," he said, ropes flying out of the tip of his wand and trapping Hermione as they wound their way around her body. The Death Eater looked at her bound form, his eyes glinting from the candles that lined the walls. Hermione could feel the plush velvety green carpet tickling her face, watched the fibers move in rhythm to her breaths. She looked at her surroundings. Portraits of blonde-haired, grey-eyed man lined the green walls, hissing at her. _What is a mudblood like her doing in this household? Why is this filth permitted into the noble home of the Malfoys_? Her eyes narrowed.

Yaxley raised his voice. "Bellatrix, guess who I've captured today." The face of a witch poked around the entrance to a room, long black wiry hair following in its wake. The pale gaunt face of a witch who held former beauty stared at Yaxley, before her eyes moved to see Hermione bound on the floor. Bellatrix's mouth broke into a smile. "Bring her in," she whispered, before waving at Hermione and walking back to the room. Yaxley bent down to Hermione, his eyes level with hers. "Welcome, my dear, to Malfoy Manor."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and hoisted her up, pulling her along with him into what Hermione presumed as the living room. Yaxley released her from her bindings, and Hermione stood up, glaring at everyone in the room. She saw her old Potions master, Professor Snape, standing next to a fireplace. She saw Draco Malfoy sitting in an armchair, refusing to make eye contact. She saw Narcissa Malfoy, standing next to Lucius Malfoy. She saw many things, but her eyes focused only on Bellatrix. "Tell me, Severus," the Dark witch whispered, "is this the girl that Harry Potter has been traveling with?"

Snape looked at Hermione through his greasy locks, eyes downcast as he stared at her blankly. "Yes, it is," he replied in his nasally, dull, flat voice. "Same bushy hair, same know it all aura around her. I could recognize her anywhere in the world, Bellatrix."

"My my my, it seems like we have a Hogwarts reunion. What do you say to our guest, Draco?"

Hermione stared at Draco, willing - no, _daring _- Malfoy to say something degrading. He stared at her through vacant eyes, almost like he did not want to be there. She challenged him silently. _Do it. Do it_, Hermione thought. _Say it. Say you knew I would be captured. Say it, Malfoy_. But he did not. He looked away towards his mother and father, who both gave him a reassuring smile.

"Bellatrix, I do think I shall take this matter up with the Dark Lord," said Snape, breaking the silence.

"Yes, yes, I do think that is wise. Bring Yaxley and the rest of them with you, please. I'll," she paused, searching for the right word, "_entertain _myself with this charming little creature before me." The rest of the Death Eaters shuffled out, leaving her alone with Bellatrix. "What a pretty little Mudblood," she whispered as she circled her, almost like a predator circling its prey. She picked up a lock of her chestnut hair, and sniffed it, inhaling the aroma. "Absolutely delicious." Hermione felt Bellatrix's hands all over her body, touching where people should not touch. She felt a hand snaking down her belly, and stop when it reached her inner thigh. Bellatrix's fingers stroked there. Hermione closed her eyes. She would not be able to handle this for very long. She would snap, and Merlin save her when she would incur the wrath of Bellatrix.  
>Bellatrix's hand stopped at her most private area, and before Hermione could stop herself, she pushed Bellatrix away from her. "You are filth, Bellatrix! Get your hands off of me!" she yelled, her hair seeming to frizz with her anger. Bellatrix stared at her, tilting her head to the side and blinking twice almost comically, before throwing her head back and laughed a long, maniacal laugh. Hermione felt rooted to the spot. She could not tear her gaze from the crazed woman in front of her. There was no where to run, no place to hide. She was completely at her mercy. Bellatrix stalked over to where she was standing, and pushed Hermione to the floor. She crawled on top of the witch, trapping her beneath her body. "I wouldn't run if I were you," she whispered into Hermione's ear. "It'll only make things worse."<p>

"Where is Harry Potter?" Bellatrix asked, her face inches from Hermione's.

"I don't know."

"_Crucio!_" Hermione writhed underneath Bellatrix, feeling as if a hundred burning needles were being stabbed into her body. A burning fire seemed to lick at her limbs, climbing higher, higher, until they consumed everything. But Hermione was strong. She refused to let Bellatrix hear her scream. The pain stopped only when Bellatrix lifted her wand.

"Where is Harry Potter?"

"I don't know."

"_Crucio_!" Again, Hermione writhed, but again, she bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood, refusing to scream.

"Where is Harry Potter?"

"I don't know."

"_Crucio! Crucio, crucio_!" The pain was excruciating, blinding, but Hermione still clamped her mouth shut. Physical pain was something that she could handle. The fire seemed to rage on forever, like it was squeezing the life out of her already thumping heart. The pain rose to a crescendo, her heart feeling like it would explode, until it all abruptly stopped. Bellatrix lay panting above her, her eyes wild with ruthlessness. "You're not an easy one to break, are you?" she panted, her hair hanging limply at the sides of her face. "No matter." Hermione's heart seemed to almost stop as Bellatrix pulled out a dagger. It was crooked, with rough edges, and it glinted in the light. Was this how her life was going to end? Killed by Bellatrix Lestrange? Killed in Malfoy Manor, with no friends or family members around to say good bye?

Alas, that was not the case.

Hermione saw stars when the tip of the dagger pierced her delicate skin. She felt the tip of the dagger drag its way down, tearing her skin along the way. She felt hot red blood trickle its way down her arm, collecting itself in a little pool on the floor. She felt Bellatrix slowly, agonizingly, carve out a letter into her arm. She felt Bellatrix's nails dig deep into her skin, holding her still with each letter she branded onto her skin. She thought about Harry. She thought about Ron. She thought about her mum and dad, and found just the tiniest piece of comfort knowing that they were safe from it all. She pursed her lips together in an effort to hold in her screams. She turned her head to watch in horror what Bellatrix was doing to her arm. She saw what Bellatrix was carving.

She screamed.

It was not from the physical pain. It was from the shock. The shock of seeing how one human being could do something so cruel to another. It was the realization that she really was deemed as inferior to them. She was a Mudblood. She was filth. She was dirty. She was next to nothing in their eyes. This was how people like her, people of muggle descent, were viewed as. This was what they _would _be viewed as, as long as people like Bellatrix and the Malfoys existed. She never thought she could hate someone with such a burning passion as she did now.

All of her thought process went by in a blur in Hermione's mind. The pain was excruciating, and her screams seemed to reverberate off the walls and pound in her eardrums. She could still feel the hot trickle of blood slowly trailing its way down her arm onto the floor. The tug of the dagger cutting through her skin did not stop. Hermione's world seemed to stall. She started to become disoriented, confusing her memories with reality. Black spots appeared in her vision, steadily overtaking her vision. She blinked her eyes in a wild attempt to stop the impending blackness. A glint of glass caught her eye, and she looked up at the dangling chandelier, reflecting the light coming in from a sliver in the curtains. She blinked again, vaguely surprised by the beauty of the rainbows being reflected off the glass.

The beauty was short-lived. Darkness closed in on her, finally blocking her from the physical pain as she stopped screaming, unconscious.

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><p>Severus Snape walked briskly down the steps of Malfoy Manor into an adjoining room, decorated with rich furniture. A plump armchair rested behind a dark stained mahogany desk, with matching bookcases lining all four entire walls. A large stone fireplace was the main attraction of the room, its fire merrily crackling away. But to Snape, the room held no warmth at all. It was the same with this whole damned house. Everything, its physical appearances, its people inside, was just a show. A show used to disguise what really went on in the house.<p>

Everything was fake.

Yet again, Snape could not criticize the whole of Malfoy Manor and its residents without criticizing himself, or else he would be a bloody hypocrite. He could not deny it- he was fake; as fake as Bellatrix, or Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps the most genuine out of the whole lot was the Dark Lord himself.

Footsteps could be heard coming down the steps, accompanied by the occasional cough. Yaxley emerged into the room, straightening out his robes before he caught sight of the wizard standing before him. "Ah, Severus," he said aloofly, "what brings you here?"

Snape glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, before replying in a tone laced with distaste. "I should think that somebody would have to inform the Dark Lord of the matter at hand. He would be quite displeased if he was, so to speak, 'left out of the loop,' no?"

Yaxley raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, but none too surprised at Snape's attitude. "Yes, yes he would be quite displeased. Although ... he does not seem to be here at the moment."

"One would find that obvious if one had two eyes and a brain to go along with it."

Snape was going into dangerous territory, he knew. It was risky instigating an argument, which would draw more unwanted attention than he already had. But something had changed since the arrival of the Granger girl. With her, she brought not only hope that Harry Potter was still alive, but that Harry Potter was well and safe, traveling the countryside in search of who-knows-what or hiding from the eyes of the Dark forces. It marked the beginning of the end, the epic finale to the waging war between the Dark Lord and those who opposed them.

It also brought increased scrutiny on Snape, making sure that he could secure Hogwarts and inform the Dark Lord at any moment when Harry Potter or his accomplices attempted to make a sort of entrance into the castle. If he "screwed up," Snape would have a lot more to answer to than just the wrath of the Death Eaters. He would have to answer to the Dark Lord.

Yaxley strode over to an armchair, before sitting down and crossing his legs, his elbows resting on the armrests. He surveyed Snape, trying to figure out why exactly the Dark Lord favored him above everyone else. What was it about this rather unextraordinary man standing before him that made him so important? What was so spectacular about him? Why did the Dark Lord confide in him, and not anyone else? It was hard to fathom. Yaxley chuckled to himself. Soon, he would be the one in favor. Snape, sensing that Yaxley was brooding to himself, walked over to the bookcase, reading the spines of the books. _Purebloods and the Key they Hold for the Rest of the Wizarding World_, _Pureblood Society_,_ Mudbloods and Non-Magic Folk who Defile Wizarding Society_,_ Dark Objects and their Magical Uses_. What boring taste, Snape thought mildly.

Yaxley, meanwhile, still wanted to blast Snape's head with a well-aimed Reducto spell, but decided against it, closing his eyes to the world around him.

The sound of footsteps could be heard again, and Yaxley turned his head to see Bellatrix Lestrange standing in the doorway. "Say, Bella, what happened to the girl?"

The witched smiled, her hands still pressed against either side of the doorway. "She's upstairs. Fainted apparently."

Snape felt sick to his stomach; he knew what Bellatrix was capable of. He never liked the Granger girl, but he could at least try and ease her suffering at least one bit. He owed that to Dumbledore, and the trust that he had in Snape.

"How now, Snape." came Bellatrix's voice. "Why are you so silent today?"

"Nothing," he spat out, his back still turned to the both of them.

Bellatrix was affronted. Nobody ever had the nerve to speak to her in such a rude tone. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, famed Death Eater and murderess who tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom to the point of madness. She commanded respect.

"You cannot speak to me in that tone of voice, Severus," she said through ground teeth, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I could say the same for you, Bella," came Snape's reply.

"What are you to the Dark Lord compared to me?"

"I am worth one-hundred or more of you, Bellatrix. Don't deny it, you know that it is the absolute truth."

A loud thud could be heard through the room as Bellatrix smacked her hand against the wall, her face contorted into a snarl. "The Dark Lord holds me in the highest esteem!"

"That is false, Bellatrix, and you know it."

"Prove it!"

"Has the Dark Lord confided in you anymore? Has he talked to you? Has he even glanced your way in these past few weeks? No, Bellatrix, he has not, because you are nothing, _nothing _to him. You are a toy, thrown away and discarded when he has lost interest in you. You are of no lasting influence to him, no lasting importance. You may once have been his most loyal, most brave lieutenant, but you no longer are. You have been usurped."

"Take that back! You lie, Severus, you lie!" Bellatrix raised her wand, aiming it at the back of Snape's head, her chest heaving from her fury.

"Do it, Bellatrix. You want to kill me so bad? Here's your chance." Snape turned his head to look at her, hands still behind his back.

The witched stared at the Death Eater standing before her. She hated Severus Snape with a burning passion. She wanted to kill him, murder him slowly and torture him until he was crawling on the floor, begging for mercy. The nerve of him, the audacity of him to insult her straight to her face, brought her blood to a boiling point. She glared at him, wishing to blast his sickly greasy head off his body, watch his body slump to the floor, motionless. She was crazy, demented, and mad- she knew all of this, but it meant nothing to her. She would bring down anyone in her and/or the Dark Lord's way. She would let nobody escape.

But Snape would win this round. She would not be able to kill Snape without incurring the Dark Lord's anger. The wizard smirked at her. He knew he had won.

Silence hung thick in the air, the tension between Bellatrix and Snape so palpable it felt like they could reach out and touch it. A rift had opened up in the innermost echelons of the Dark Lord's highest ranking Death Eaters, creating a dangerous chasm that could threaten the unity that Lord Voldemort had tried so hard to achieve.

Almost as if Lord Voldemort had sensed the threat to his well-established order, the hissing of a snake could be heard, slithering its way towards the three Death Eaters, announcing the arrival of the Dark Lord. All three of them dropped to the floor, their heads touching the floor as the Dark Lord entered the room. "My Lord," they said in greeting. They saw feet moving as their master walked slowly inside, making his way to his armchair. Voldemort surveyed the three people kneeling on the floor, his eyes resting on each and every one of them as he analyzed them. Yaxley, he thought, was the least intelligent of them all, useful only in his strength and ambition. Bellatrix was loyal to him, but also too emotional. His eyes slid over to Snape. Snape was perhaps the most loyal to him, but at times, he felt unsure whether or not Snape worked for him, or for anybody else.

Either way, he would still be able to become the most powerful wizard in the world without the help of his servants. He needed no one. "You may rise," he whispered. They all stood up, looking at the Dark Lord, waiting for him to speak first. "So," he said, "it seems like a capture has been made. Who is the girl upstairs?"

"My Lord, it is the Granger girl, whom Potter has been traveling with," said Snape, looking Voldemort straight in the eye.

"How was she captured?"

Yaxley spoke up this time. "I was at the Ministry of Magic, alerted that there was an intruder when a worker found Dolores Umbridge unconscious. I saw Potter with the girl and the Weasley boy running towards the fireplaces. It was obvious they were trying to escape without being noticed. I spied them first, and I ran after them. I managed to grab a hold of the girl before they disappeared, and I brou-"

"Enough." Voldemort silenced him with a raise of his hand. He remained silent for a moment, putting thoughts together in his head. "I wish to speak to Severus alone."

"But. My Lord, I captur-"

"I said," paused the Dark Lord for emphasis, "I wish to speak to Severus _alone_."

Unable to protest, Belatrix and Yaxley left Severus alone with the Dark Lord, closing the door behind them as they walked up the staircase. Voldemort waited until the sounds of their footsteps faded into silence before speaking again. "Severus, you know the Granger girl better than I do. What do you think I should do with her?"

Snape looked at the Dark Lord, surprised and wary at the Dark Lord's question. Lord Voldemort was not one to ask for anyone's opinion, let alone follow them. He chose his words with caution, weighing the consequences if he conveyed the wrong message- his priority right now was to get the Granger girl out of Malfoy Manor. "My Lord, I think the Granger girl should return to Hogwarts with Draco and I. I believe that she is more likely to tell us about Potter's whereabouts if she lets her guard down in a familiar place, in the company of familiar people. I'm afraid you will only meet resistance if you confront her directly."

He held his breath, waiting for the Dark Lord's response. Voldemort looked away from Snape, letting his eyes flicker across the room. Leaving the girl out of his eyes, putting her as another person's responsibility, was incredibly risky. She was extremely valuable, the perfect bargaining tool in exchange for Potter. To let someone else watch over her opened doors, possibilities that the girl could escape. He had learned throughout the years to never underestimate one's opponent. The girl was obviously brave ... brave, but cowardly. But what else could he do? Keep her in Malfoy Manor where, like Snape said, she would only be silent? To hold her in here and for her to speak nothing of value would be a waste of time. He would be no closer to finding Potter than when he first embarked on his journey to kill Potter.

"Very well," he whispered. "Very well. She will go to Hogwarts come September. But I do say, Severus, should something happen to her, somebody will have to answer to me."

"Of course, my Lord."

"You may go." The Dark Lord dismissed Severus with a wave of his hand, and waited for his form to disappear up the steps. He sat back in his armchair, still deep in thought. He had took an enormous gamble in sending her to Hogwarts- all he could do was watch how events unfolded. Then again, he thought with a crooked smile, if the girl resisted, he could always just resort to torturing her until she begged for death. Yes, the threat of death was always a strong incentive. He could use Legilimency and probe into her mind, creating images of torture, although there was always the possibility that she had learned Occlumency. No, he decided. He had done the right thing. A strange calmeness seemed to settle throughout his body. He stroked the head of Nagini, before speaking in Parseltongue. "_Soon, Nagini, soon. Soon, Harry Potter will be dead, and I will be the greatest wizard to have ever walked this earth. Soon, I will be victorious_."

* * *

><p>Hermione had regained consciousness after what felt like an hour. The happenings of that day had come surging back to her memory, causing a momentary headache. She closed her eyes for a long time, ignoring the dull throb that could still be felt coming from her arm. She sat analyzing her situation. Her eyes fluttered open when she heard footsteps coming down the stairwell into the dungeons, before the form of Severus Snape emerged. Hermione glared at him with disgust, wishing to hurl obscenities at him. <em>'"Damn you<em>." she spat. "Damn you to the deepest depths of hell. I should have known all along that you were a traitor, servicing the Dark Lord. That's what you did when you were supposedly Professor Dumbledore's most trusted friend, right?" She sneered at him viciously. "Right, Snape? You are nothing but filth."

He turned to look at her with cold indifference. "Miss Granger, I would have some respect for your new Headmaster if I were you. Then again, you never were one for respect, were you? Roaming the school at night with that Potter and Weasley of yours, breaking school rules because you all thought that you were invincible."

"You are not, were not, and will never be my Headmaster."

"On the contrary, I am your Headmaster. You will be going to Hogwarts with Draco and I on September 1st. We will get your books for the school year, along with any other materials you need. Your wand will only be returned to you when you have arrived at Hogwarts. Is that clear?"

She ignored his question. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I'm afraid you will only have the Dark Lord as your companion."

"Should I be grateful?" she mocked.

Snape paused, surveying the girl in front of her. Should she be grateful? He frowned at her. "That is for you to decide."

Surprised, Hermione turned to look at the grim face of her former potions master. She searched his face for some hint as to what his cryptic answer meant, but found none. _That is for you to decide_. She winced as a particularly painful throb shot up her arm. "Leave me," she said simply, turning her face away from his eyes. Snape looked at her intently. He wished he could slap some sense into the stubborn girl, but seeing as she had not immediately shot him down, he took that as an encouraging sign.

He left, his black cloak swishing behind him as he left the girl to her own musings. Hermione sat staring at the wall worrying about Harry and Ron. What would they do without her? What would she do? What _could _she do? There were not many options available to her right now. All she could do was wait and let events unfold, hoping that they would open new doors, and new opportunities. Above all, she needed to get in touch with Harry and Ron. There had to be a way.

Her arm throbbed, sending little spasms of pain through her body, but she ignored it. She closed her eyes, blocking out the problems of the material world until her breaths evened out, and her chest rose slowly up and down steadily. _At least the gods allowed her some sort of peacefulness for what was to come_.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading guys, and reviews are fully appreciated!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the really really long wait. I was really busy! I'll try and update more during the summer though.**

**IMPORTANT: I realized a flaw in my first chapter that would affect the story. So instead of Hermione arriving at the start of term, she's arriving in the beginning/middle of term. Also, her wand has already been given back to her (during the morning of her trip to Hogwarts).**

A lone figure stood on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, two suitcases lined up against her sides, with one of her hands clutching the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. Unfurling it open, a large picture of Harry greeted her, glasses askew, with the words "Harry Potter Still at Large" in big, bold letters plastered across the headlines. Folding the newspaper carefully in half, Hermione quickly read the article:

_Harry Potter, the boy who the Ministry of Magic has pinned as Undesirable Number 1, has yet to be found. For months, Potter has evaded the Ministry's hands, choosing instead to terrorize the countryside, threatening any wizarding families they came across to provide him and his companions with food and water. He is rumored to be traveling with his two classmates, pure-blood Ronald Weasley (described as having red hair and freckles), and Muggle-born Hermione Granger (brown, frizzy hair and abnormally large front teeth). All three students should currently be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but the current headmaster, Professor Severus Snape, has informed the Daily Prophet that Potter and his two friends did not attend the first few months of term. Just last Thursday, our very own Mirvan Minddle caught up with the headmaster and obtained a brief statement from Professor Snape himself:_

_"Should Potter and his classmates decide to return to Hogwarts, I will immediately inform the Ministry. I assure you, Potter will be dealt the proper punishment in accordance to the crimes that he has committed. If I shall discover that any of my students has information about his whereabouts and has neglected to tell the school of such important information, he or she will also be punished as severely as they would be had they been hiding Potter himself."_

_The Ministry urges anyone with information about Harry Potter or his companions Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger to contact the Ministry of Magic. Any person who gives the Ministry valuable information will be awarded 1,000 Galleons. _

_Article continued on Page 4._

Hermione looked away from the paper in disgust- it was absolutely astounding the sheer nerve of people to write utter ... utter _crap _about someone whom they did not even know. Well, Hermione might have been a bit too harsh on the Daily Prophet. After all, they did get one fact right, and that was that Harry had managed to elude the Ministry of Magic for months on end, although he did get harrowing-ly close to being captured. Nevertheless, it was better that she herself was captured rather than Harry. She was worth a lot less to the wizarding world than Harry was.

She stood there on the platform, musing to herself as the Hogwarts Express came churning into the station, billowing steam out onto the platform. She was reluctant to admit it, but she could (and undoubtedly should) have received harsher treatment from the Death Eaters. In fact, the only harsh treatment she received was the initial welcome from Bellatrix. Other than that, the Death Eaters often left her to her own devices, with only Snape dropping in to check on her.

It was all rather eerie, really, considering the fact that she was one of the most wanted witches in the country. It felt ominous, like this was just a fake image set up so that she would let her guard down. It was like waiting for the snake to strike, but not knowing when it was going to happen. Something was not quite right with things in the world right now. Something was disturbing the equilibrium, _her _equilibrium, and the nagging sensation in the back of her mind told her that she should know, but just could not figure it out at that moment for some inexplicable reason.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she lifted her bags and boarded the train, taking one last look at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It was the last time she would see it in a long, long time.

Two weeks ago, back at Malfoy Manor, Snape had presented her with an enticing and not altogether horrible offer: Hermione could choose to stay in Malfoy Manor under the supervision of Bellatrix, or she could choose to return to Hogwarts and face scrutiny from Snape himself. The choice was clear to Hermione. At Hogwarts, she would be reunited with people she knew, and more important yet, she would have more resources to try and contact Harry and Ron. Hermione had no doubt that some higher force had come and intervened- what was the word, ah yes, she had experienced divine intervention. Someone or something must have caused the Death Eaters to back away from her. And for some strange reason, she just thought that maybe, despite how slim the chance was, that Snape was somehow in their side. That maybe, just maybe, they were not the only ones pitted against the world.

-

Professor Snape, now formally known as Headmaster Severus Snape, sighed deeply, staring out the window of the Headmaster's office. The stars that had just started to emerge in the darkening blue sky, and they twinkled down on him. Hands clasped behind his back, he felt himself drifting back to the times where things were not so muddled, so confused, in a time where life was as simple as eating, studying, and sleeping. But no, he had made a stupid decision back when he was a teenager, and it had haunted him, and still did, to this very moment. If he could choose, he would go back and change everything, and live the life that he wanted to live now.

"Professor Snape?"

The new headmaster was jolted out of his thoughts by Professor McGonagall, sitting in one of the plush armchairs that faced the Headmaster desk. "Professor Snape, have you been listening to me at all for the past five minutes?"

"No, Minerva, I'm terribly sorry for my lapse in concentration. Please, do continue," he said in a mockingly caring voice.

"These punishments on the students must be stopped! How do you expect first years to continue on in this school, to concentrate in their studies of magical history and its practical uses, when they're deathly afraid of being stunned or becoming victim to the Cruciatus Curse everywhere they go? The Carrow brothers have already gone too far!"

Professor Snape turned to look at her, fixing her with his blank stare, his face an unreadable mask. "Well what do you want me to do, Minerva?"

"Talk to them!" Professor McGonagall stated indignantly. "You are the headmaster, might I remind you. You must hold some semblance of control over them. It was you, after all, that appointed them into their positions, am I right?"

Snape ignored her question. "You know very well that the Carrow brothers will not listen to anything I say or do. They are beyond my control. If you are still not satisfied, Minerva, you may take up your _grievances _with the Minister of Magic, but right now, I have more important matters on my mind, and frankly, so do you," Snape sneered. He strode silently back to his seat, and sat down sharply, staring at the stubborn woman before him.

That woman stared back disbelievingly, a hint of contempt and anger flashing dangerously in her eyes. She gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles turning white, before she pushed herself up to her full height, a rather impressive feat that placed her on almost level ground with the Headmaster. Fixing him with her most regal stare, she said in a voice quivering with emotion, "Professor Snape, I was under the impression that you must have had some semblance of dignity and morals left inside of you, something that Dumebledore saw that made you highly competent in his eyes. I'm sorry, but I am afraid to admit that I see nothing of the sort."

And before the Headmaster could speak, she turned her back on him, wizard robes billowing out dramatically behind her, and walked to the closed doors of the office. "I bid you goodnight, Professor," she said, head still held high.

Behind her, Snape looked at her calculatingly. He had been her colleague for to many years that he cared to count. Despite his dislike of her, she was a valuable ally, someone that would do anything to the ends of the earth to see the Dark Lord fall. Crossing his legs, the soft sound of fabric rubbing on fabric filling the room, he cleared his throat. "Ah, before you go Minerva, I have one favor to ask of you."

Inclining her head in the direction of his voice, but still refusing to meet his gaze, the Transfiguration teacher listened carefully. Her body was still stiff, still showing him no respect.

"I would like," he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, "for you to pick up Ms. Granger from the train station in Hogsmeade."

His words were met with a long silence, Professor McGonagall standing stock still, trying to process the information that Snape had just told her. She turned on her heel to look at him once again, this time her anger completely gone, replaced with amazement and slight disbelief. "Are ... are you talking about Hermione Granger?"

"Well, do you know another Granger by any chance, Minerva?" asked Snape who was currently nonchalantly writing on a piece of paper, not staring at the woman standing before him.

"Hermione Granger was captured? What about Harry Potter and Ron Weasley?" she asked, her heart beating in anticipation.

"Still on the loose." The headmaster picked up the piece of paper he had been writing, and held it out to Professor McGonagall, waiting for her to take it. "You should better hurry up, or else I'll get one of the Carrows to pick her up instead."

Professor McGonagall crossed the room in six quick strides, and snatched the piece of paper from his hands. "How much time do I have to get to her?"

"I would say about half an hour."

Professor McGonagall did not even wait to see if there was anything left for him to tell her. She strode to the front door, her hands gripping it tightly, before she turned to say one last thing to him. "Thank you," she whispered, and she let it fill with the gratitude that seemed to well up in her chest. After closing the door behind her, she hurried down the hall, opening the note Snape had handed her. Reading it, she felt a small smile grace her lips, and she realized maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore was not wrong in appointing Snape as the new Headmaster. The note said, quite simply, _Please excuse Professor McGonagall for leaving the castle. She is on important duty assigned to her by me_. And below the little message was Snape's signature. Few people would realize why the note was so important, but Minerva McGonagall was grateful nonetheless. If she did not have the note, there was no doubt in her mind that the Carrows would forbid her from leaving the castle. And heavens knows what the Carrows would do to Hermione if they were the ones picking her up instead of McGonagall herself ...

-

Hogwarts Express entered the Hogsmeade station, billowing steam out as it slowly and smoothly churned to a stop. Grabbing her luggage from the overhead compartment, Hermione stepped off the train, where she was expecting to walk to Hogwarts alone. After all, Snape certainly was not one to make this any easier for her, let alone personally escort her. And so, she was startled when she saw a lone figure waiting on the platform, robes swishing in the wind behind the figure as he or she stared at her. Hermione, after years of experience with Harry and Ron dealing with Dark wizards, had come to expect the worst from everyone. Brandishing her wand in front of her, she walked carefully down the steps, maintaining a distance of around twenty feet between her and the unknown person. The face was still obscured by the steam still drifting around the station.

"Who are you?" shouted Hermione, raising her voice so she could be heard over the thunderous roar of the train engine.

The figure came walking towards her, but at the movement, Hermione raised her wand threateningly. "Stop! Who are you?" she yelled again.

The cloaked person raised their arms as a show of respect, and halted in their movements. "It's me, Professor McGonagall, Ms. Granger." At that moment, Minerva McGonagall was feeling very awkward indeed. Never before had a student, a personal student, yelled at her before. And never, ever before had she found herself being submissive to those orders.

Hermione looked closely at the figure as the steam started to lighten up. It sure enough was Professor McGonagall, but after traveling with Harry for so long, his paranoia had rubbed off on her. Without taking her wand down, she looked at the woman straight in the eye and asked, "What did I do in my first year for you to dock five points from me?"

The older witch strained her memory back to six years ago (heavens, how long that was) and came upon the answer. "A mountain troll was let in, and you told me that Potter and Weasley saved your life by taking it on. I took five points off because your foolishness for believing that you could take on a full grown mountain troll."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She grabbed her luggage, which was currently discarded haphazardly on either side of her, and walked over to the witch's side. "Sorry about that, Professor," she said a little sheepishly, feeling mortified and a little embarrassed about the whole ordeal.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Ms. Granger," replied the professor, while the two began the long walk back to Hogwarts. "Please excuse me, but I won't have much time to ask you any questions once we get back to school, so it is important that I ask you now. Where is Potter and Weasley? How were you captured?"

Hermione paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "I was captured when we were trying to break into the Ministry of Magic." She glanced quickly at her former professor, half expecting McGonagall to reprimand her for doing something against the law. When she saw no reaction but continued polite interest, she continued. "Harry and Ron managed to escape, but Yaxley grabbed a hold of my arm while we disapparated. I was taken to Malfoy Manor, and was kept there for a few weeks. As for the location of Harry and Ron," she felt a lump in her throat as she thought of them, "I can honestly say that I don't know, in Merlin's name, where they are."

For a long time, Minerva McGonagall stayed silent, processing what she was being told. Sighing, she spoke to her student in a low, hushed voice. "These are very dark times, Ms. Granger, very dark. Hogwarts is not the same as it once was. I'm afraid," she paused, finding a way to lessen the severity of her words, "I'm afraid that it is not the home that many have previously considered it to be."

The rest of the walk was relatively silent, except for a few questions that Professor McGonagall would ask now and then. The road curved steadily upwards, and finally, the outline of Hogwarts appeared after being blocked by a particularly large tree. Its windows twinkled down on the two women, casting shimmers on the surface of the lake that surrounded it. Little turrets jutted out, attached to the supporting wall of Hogwarts, at odd angles. The gentle pit pat of their feet hitting the stoned steps were the only sound that filled the dark night.

Shuffle.

Shuffle.

Stop.

Hermione looked up at the large, oak doors of Hogwarts, adorned with two flying phoenixes each pointed skyward, holding the large, ornate crest of Hogwarts in their claws. A single line was carved on the stone above the door: _scientia est donatus illis quisnam peto is_. Staring at the door, Hermione felt a wave of emotions that momentarily left her breathless. Adventure, sadness, regret, longing, indecisiveness, but at the same time, determination and excitement filled her body. She had completed the first few chapters of her life: childhood and adolescence. She was now faced with her next great challenge, and that was growing up into a strong and independent woman. And without her two best friends at her side, she found that she would face it quite alone, something that could be taken as either a curse or a blessing in disguise.

Professor McGonagall opened the door, bathing them both in a warm, yellow light. She spoke to her in a low voice, "I shall escort you to the Headmaster's office, where Professor Snape will provide you with instructions."

They walked through empty corridors, passing by empty classrooms. Most students were in the Great Hall, eating dinner. The clinking of metal on dishes could be heard, muffled by the constant chatter of animated students talking to one another. A few ghosts floated by, but none of them paid specific attention to the professor and the student. After completing a series of sharp turns and walking through long narrow passageways, they emerged in front of a large, stone gargoyle. To Hermione's surprise, the gargoyle lifted its head and spoke to them: "Password?" it asked in a slightly scratchy voice.

"Fizzing whizbees," replied McGonagall in a firm voice.

The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing a spiral stone staircase. "Go," said Professor McGonagall, lightly pushing Hermione towards the staircase. "It's the first pair of doors you see. Knock twice and wait for him to say enter." She gave Hermione one of her rare smiles, eyes crinkling slightly. "Good luck."

Hermione turned to face the stairs, and took a deep breath. With determination, she put one step in front of the other, and went to face Professor Snape.

-

Neville sat down on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, mouth watering already at the smell of sizzling sausages wafting throughout the room. He grabbed the knife and fork, eagerly sawing his way piece by piece through the sausage. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan sat on the other side of the table, chuckling at Neville's ferocity as they slowly picked up their own forks.

"Oy Neville," said Seamus cheerfully, "careful or you'll choke on your own sausage."

Neville paused between bites to laugh boisterously. With Harry, Ron, and Hermione gone, the community around him (that is, members of Dumbledore's Army) found itself for the first time leaderless. There was never really an argument as to who would be leader- Harry had the natural persona of a leader, taking action when others were still hesitant. He was always the brave one, willing to help others despite the dangers that were presented. Ron was always his right-hand mate, always helping Harry when he needed help. And Hermione, well, she was undoubtedly the "smartest witch of her age," providing the brains and ideas for the DA. Ever since they had left, Neville had inexplicably found himself thrust into that position, and for an even more inexplicable reason, found himself enjoying it. It wasn't that he had changed from that awkward kid that always seemed to find himself hurt. No, he was still that awkward kid, but he had gained a bit more confidence in himself.

While Neville was silently thinking to himself, Ginny sat down quickly next to him, grabbing a plate of chicken instead. "Hey guys," she said cheerfully, her red hair swishing behind her as she flicked it over her shoulder. It was annoying having her hair hang down around her face while she ate, anyway.

"Hey," the three of them replied back cheerfully.

Leaning forward, she whispered to them quietly. "I heard Snape's making a big announcement. It's bound to be important, he never makes school announcements."

Dean looked at her with comically widened eyes. "Maybe he's finally learned to use shampoo."

They all burst into laughter, enjoying the friendly banter that had passed between the four of them. Really, it was a lot nicer to have friends in these difficult times. Sometimes, it was the only thing that kept them sane.

"No, but really though," said Seamus seriously, clearing his throat. "What could be so important that he's making an announcement?"

"You don't think ... you don't think they captured Harry, do you?" Dean whispered, frightened.

None of them had the chance to respond though, because at that moment, the headmaster had rose up from his seat. Such was the force of his power that everybody found their eyes drawn to him, the single figure dressed in all black, standing at the raised platform in front of the Great Hall. "Students, quiet down," he said, though there was no use for it. Nobody dared speak when Snape was anywhere in close proximity.

"It is my great pleasure," his lips curled up to form a sinister-looking smile, "to announce the arrival of a very special student." He beckoned toward the great old oak doors, his hand stretched as if he was doing a mock gesture of welcome. A lone figure stepped through, brown curls flipped over her shoulder, head held high and eyes that challenged any of those that met hers.

"Is that ... is that Hermione?" whispered Ginny in complete surprise and awe.

"I- I think it is," replied Dean, also with a hushed whisper.

Snape's voice rang out in the silent hall again. "Hermione Granger has kindly decided to join us for the remainder of the school year." His eyes searched those that were staring expectantly back up at him. "Please treat her with the amount of respect that you reserve for each other," he said silkily, before sinking back to his seat.

A haughty looking Hermione strode to the grand staircase, and without looking over her shoulder, she ascended the stairs, robes billowing out dramatically behind her. The swish of red, gold, and black was visible as she rounded the corner. The hall was completely silent, all students staring after the girl who had just done what nobody else dared to do- defy the headmaster and stand against the very thing that he and the Carrows and every single supporter of the Dark Lord stood for. Some looked on with admiration. Some looked on with disdain. Some looked on with clear annoyance written on their faces. Some looked on with cool indifference.

But everyone stared. Even the teachers.

The first few whispers broke out among the Slytherins, followed by the Hufflepuffs, and then the Ravenclaws. The Gryffindors stared at each other with astonished expressions, before their eyes seemed to widen with excitement, mouths changing from the little 'o's they had formed to small, tentative smiles. Some burst out in delighted laughter, shaking their heads with disbelief at what had just happened.

"Oh my gosh," said Ginny, her eyes bright. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked her companions. "Let's go talk to her!"

Hermione was walking up the familiar spiral staircase to Gryffindor tower, feeling slightly overwhelmed despite her show of confidence in the Great Hall. Being in the school, being in the only place that could now be considered home, was something that was wholly unfamiliar to her. To see all those faces staring up at her in bewilderment, seeing her friends for the first time in Merlin knows how long, paralyzed her with some foreign emotion that she couldn't place. It was a strange mixture of sadness, longing, and happiness at the same time. Sadness at seeing so many unhappy faces. Longing to see them again. Happiness that she _could _see them again. For so long, her fear of never seeing her friends, her family, again had gripped her, always lurking beneath the surface. It was not a fact she liked to acknowledge, because throughout her travels with Harry and Ron, she tried to remain the rock that kept all of them stable. It was no secret that Harry sometimes had trouble controlling her temper, and Ron was undoubtedly one of the most insensitive people that one could ever meet.

To show her true feelings would have undermined the stability that all three of them had tried to maintain. And that couldn't happen.

But now she was back at Hogwarts, and finally, one of her greatest fears was gone, replaced with content. She reveled in her feelings, letting them wash over her in waves. Her serene environment was shattered though, with the sounds of footsteps running towards her. Cautious as always, Hermione pulled her wand out, slinking into the shadows to avoid detection. Voices floated up from below, and from what Hermione could discern, there were around three to four people approaching. Pushing herself even farther into the corner she had hid herself in, she listened.

For the first time in weeks -no, months,- she heard the familiar quiet but affirmative voice of Ginny Weasley. Without pausing to think, she flung herself down the stairs and wrapped Ginny in an embrace, her arms tightly holding Ginny in place. "Hi Gin," Hermione said breathlessly, before peering over her friend's shoulder to see Neville, Dean, and Seamus smiling at her.

It was a reunion that passed by in a blur, filled with tears, girly squeals, hugs, and some very awkward looking guys. The fun and games couldn't and wouldn't last though, when reality slowly started to regain control of the situation. Sobering up, Neville looked at Hermione and spoke to her quietly, as the smiles of his companions faded instead to hard lines. "You were going to Gryffindor Tower, right?"

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Yes, why?"

The group remained silent for a while, wondering who would break the news to her. Nobody wanted to speak. Neville broke the silence. "Hogwarts has changed, Hermione. It's not the same as before."

Hermione's brows furrowed as she looked at Neville with the same piercing gaze that she had seen Dumbledore give Harry. "I know that," she bit out, more harshly than she had intended.

Ginny filled in for Neville, who seemed taken aback by Hermione's sudden coolness. "Hermione, the dorms aren't safe anymore. You know those two men who were sitting next to Snape? They're the Carrow brothers. It's no secret that they're supporters of the Dark Arts. They can do whatever they want, and that includes," she paused, taking in a gulp, her eyes flashing quickly to Neville before continuing, "that includes going into the dorms at night."

Seamus cut in at that moment. "Yeah, the Carrows are terrible. They gave me this scar," he said, pointing to a particularly nasty gash on the side of his neck that Hermione had noticed, but was too overwhelmed at the moment to ask. He tilted his head in the direction of Neville. "They gave Neville that cut on his eyebrow and broke his jaw once."

Everyone heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath. Perhaps she had been too naive, she realized. When everyone had said to her that Hogwarts had changed, she hadn't expected this level of evil that had slowly infiltrated Hogwarts. She believed and expected that there would be a stricter enforcement of rules, and the new implementation of rules that prohibited student groups without the permission of the staff, much like Umbridge's time at Hogwarts. It was a bit of a nasty shock, and that was an understatement, to Hermione that so much could have changed.

Gathering herself from her muddled thoughts, she fixed Ginny with a stare and asked her, hesitantly, "Where do people sleep then, if not in the dorms?"

Suddenly, all of their faces lit up. "You've got to see it to believe it, Hermione," said Dean excitedly.

"Yeah, it's totally out of this world. You wouldn't even think it was the same room!" Neville exclaimed, his eyes bright with mischief and something like pride. "Follow us," he said, mouth stretching into a wide grin.

Quietly, the four of them walked through the silent halls of Hogwarts, the shuffle of their feet reverberating around them. Moonlight filtered in through the dusty windows, lighting up their way as they strode past a large statue of Claudius the Conqueror. It was the only object in the hall, its large spear pointed straight ahead, making all of them have to duck in order to continue. She wasn't sure if it was just her nerves, but Hermione thought that the statue looked especially menacing, with the sharp point of the weapon pointed right at her face. The eyes of the statue seemed to follow them, even as they turned the corner. It sent a shiver down her spine.

They emerged in front of a well lit hall, and to Hermione's surprise, it was familiar to her. A large, empty wall faced her, two torches spaced about twelve feet apart the only thing that adorned the wall. Its fire cast a flickering light around their surroundings, bathing them in yellow and orange light. It seemed to lick the walls, and the very atmosphere seemed to whisper with ancient magic. Hermione took a deep breath, reveling in the tangible magic that seemed to flow around her, letting it encompass her body. She allowed herself the moment of peace, absolute serenity, that being here permitted. Finally opening her eyes, she smiled at all of her companions, her voice nearly coming out as a whisper as she said, with something close to reverence lacing her voice, "It's the Room of Requirement." Her eyes seemed to soften as memories flooded her mind. "I should've known," she said softly.

Ginny's voice responded to her statement. "Just think, 'I need a place that will keep us hidden, a place to prepare ourselves away from prying eyes,' Go on," she smiled, eyes warm.

Closing her eyes, Hermione did just that, and opened them to see the familiar large double doors in front of her. Despite her calm demeanor that she tried to maintain, she found herself rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet, hands clasped in front of her in anticipation. Her eyes seemed to shine bright in the light. She did not know what quite to expect, maybe something along the lines of a few beds here and there, but nothing spectacular. Mind you, she did not underestimate the magical power of the Room of Requirements, she just wasn't sure the extent of what the room would do if there were only a few people staying. But if all of them looked to excited behind her, the room must've be somewhat awe-inspiring.

Taking a few tentative steps forward, Hermione slid open one of the doors an inch, and promptly threw the two doors apart, her eyes wide and posture rigid in the shock that seemed to momentarily paralyze her body. Seamus chuckled behind her. "It's really outdone itself, eh?" he asked.

Outdone itself might have been the understatement of the century. The Room of Requirements had made something magnificent and spectacular, made itself into something that Hermione never would or could have expected. It had configured itself into a hexagonal shape, the three walls directly across from her each individually adorned with one of the four House flags. Hufflepuff students were placed on the left wall, their flag seeming to slightly ripple in the breeze, although they could feel none. Directly across from where she was standing was the section directed solely to members of Gryffindor House, and Hermione found herself astonished by the sheer number of them. It seemed like the vast majority, if not the whole House, was in the room. Its colors hung bright and high, its bright scarlet and gold of the flag contrasting sharply against the dark grey of the stone wall behind it. Lastly, the Ravenclaws were situated on the right-hand side, its flag also hung proudly up.

The absence of the last remaining house did not go unnoticed.

Instead of the familiar four-poster beds Hermione had expected, the Room of Requirements decided on a different approach, choosing hammocks instead. Each hammock was colored according to the house that their owner was in. Before her very eyes, Hermione saw one hammock appear in the Gryffindor side, one that was obviously meant for her. To her even greater surprise, the room had somehow managed to acquire her luggage, and there it stood, right next to her own hammock.

At the center of the floor were two large rugs, the first one with a coffee table. Large, puffed up armchairs were placed all around it, with pillows on the floor to accommodate those who were unable to get a seat. Books lay scattered across the surrounding area, but they were too far away for Hermione to see what they were about. The second rug was absolutely empty, with the exception of a rather big pile of pillows too, also color coordinated by its owners' houses. Hermione assumed this to be the place where meetings would take place.

Hermione's mind tried to desperately take everything in, to adjust to the unfamiliar setting around her, but the task was made more difficult by the sheer amount of eyes that were looking at her. In the Great Hall, it was much easier to ignore all of them, since the Slytherins were there. There was no way that she would let her guard down with them around. But here, all her friends, her peers whom she had learned with and frankly suffered together were all looking at her with something that looked like expectation in their eyes. Hermione definitely hadn't expected this, and she hadn't prepared for it either. What was she supposed to do, give a speech? Tell them what she, Harry, and Ron had been up to? Why they had so mysteriously left school and why she had suddenly and miraculously appeared again? She couldn't answer those questions, even if she wanted to.

For once in her whole life, Hermione knew what it felt like to be Harry, to have these huge expectations placed on yourself, but feel wholly inadequate to meet those demands. It made her feel weak. It was no wonder that Harry had a hero-complex; it was the role that he was thrust into ever since he was born. He had no way to escape it, and all he could do was embrace it and try to fulfill the needs of those around him.

But she wasn't Harry. She wasn't used to all the attention she was getting. It was an unnerving feeling, looking around at familiar eyes that stared unblinking back at her. But as soon as her insecurity appeared, it left in an instant, replaced instead by an incapacitating feeling of embarrassment, for someone had decided to clap. And as soon as that one person broke the heavy silence that had filled the room, everyone began to clap. Their faces broke into smiles, some shouting greetings at her, other shouting congratulations. But what for? What were they clapping for? What had she done that warranted all of them to be proud of her?

She hadn't done anything but help Harry along. She never faced Lord Voldemort face to face. She never saved someone's life. A blush slowly appeared on Hermione's face, lightly coloring her cheeks. The blush, however, did not come from her embarrassment. It came from her mortification and frustration. These people didn't _understand_. Any one of them could have been standing in her place right now, had they became one of Harry's best friends. She wasn't anything special, other than being book-smart, and let's be serious, when are you going to use things you learned in _Hogwarts: A History _or _The Great Wizarding Wars of 1214 _in real life? The truth was, she was just a normal witch that had been thrust into this situation because she had befriended the boy that was destined to save the world.

She felt a rush of sadness and admiration for Harry. He handled the pressure so well, only occasionally cracking. He had the weight of the whole world put on his shoulders when he was only a baby. The world placed the biggest responsibility on him, and while it was not entirely impossible to fulfill it, it was extremely difficult. She wondered exactly how many times Harry had asked himself 'why me?'. Hermione didn't want to think about it. She admired Harry for his strength though. He hadn't asked for this, he hadn't _wanted _to be the Boy Who Lived. But the universe decided to play games with him, and the universe always did funny things.

Either way, Hermione was standing there, with people clapping for her, and she had also unexpectedly been put in a position of leadership. And no matter how much she wanted to just be a spectator on the sidelines except for the main attraction, she knew that wouldn't happen. She was given a responsibility, and she would have to carry it out. Self-pitying and complaining would bring her nowhere. It was time for her to take the reigns, and she would do so without hesitation.

Holding up her hand in acknowledgement of her greetings, the applause slowly quieted until a general silence was achieved. Hermione cleared her throat, a slight twinge of nerves still breaking through. "Thank you," she said, her voice coming out stronger than she thought it would. "Thank you for all your help and your support." Her voice was clear and carrying, holding a tone of authority that challenged those who would oppose her. Even after all those years, Hermione's bossy demeanor was still present, and it asserted itself. "It means a lot to me, Harry, and Ron."

She started pacing, staring each and every one of the people in the eye. "As many of you have undoubtedly noticed, we left Hogwarts after the sixth year, and failed to return for the seventh year. Unfortunately, I was captured by a Death Eater and sent back here so they could keep a close eye on me." Many gasped at the statement, murmurs filling the room. Hermione's voice cut them short. "But that is not a bad thing. We can use this to our advantage, and there might be more on our side than we may originally have assumed. We are not as alone as we thought we were." She thought back to Snape, his strange leniency towards her. She still didn't trust him, but she couldn't deny that he was strangely cooperative. There was more to him than what met the eye.

"I know that many things have changed here at Hogwarts. Believe me, I know that. I'm not here to guarantee that all is going to end well, that we know what we're doing, because we don't. We would be fools to believe that we do. We're going into this blind, because we haven't ever done this before. Our mothers, our fathers, have experience, but we're facing something much darker than before. Lord Voldemort," a collective gasp was heard around the room while many flinched at the name, "has returned, and with a vengeance.

"But while he has the strength in numbers, we have strength in unity. We're all tied together by a common goal, and that is to end this war. Voldemort's followers are there out of fear and a collective want for power. And while those may keep them together now, it won't in the long run. We have to work together. And since I've been gone for the past three months, I don't know what all of you have been going, though I don't doubt that you have been working to bring him down. I'm here to help. Please let me help."

A long silence followed her speech, and Hermione was anxious. Had she said something wrong? That thought was whisked away though, when they all started clapping, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws alike. It was then that a feeling of pride and happiness filled Hermione. She had finally done something, solidified herself as part of the team. She knew the road would be hard, full of obstacles, but she had prepared for that from the moment she agreed to help Harry on his quest for Horcruxes.

Nothing could prepare her for what she would eventually face though. Not even the preparation of her mind could help her.

Hermione, however, didn't know that yet. She fell into her hammock that night, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Her head buried itself into the pleasantly scented pillow, a mix of old book pages, freshly mowed grass, and the clean, crisp smell of air in the frigid winter filling her senses. It was light, not overbearingly so. Her body was exhausted, and her mind even more. She fell into a deep sleep, still unsuspecting of the challenges that would await her.

For now, she was still a seventeen-year-old girl, blissfully unaware of what the world held. She had seen a lot, more than what normal people her age should see, but there was still many things out there that she would soon learn.

When all was said and done, she would be a woman.

**Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism/reviews are always appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Well, this is probably going to be the last update of the summer. I'm going to try and update during the fall months, but it might be a bit tight because I will literally be busy for all the weeks from September to December. **

**On another note, Theodore Nott finally makes his first appearance! Hopefully, the situation isn't too cliché.**

Hermione sighed in frustration, her hand clenched into a fist, her head finding its way to connect with the hard wood of the table in the Great Hall. She let out a strangled moan like that of a wounded animal, and to be honest, she felt like she was one right now. Out was the feeling of excitement of being back in Hogwarts, and in came a familiar sense of dread and foreboding. Someone was out to get her, she was sure of it.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" asked Ginny, looking over at her friend with an expression of mingled surprise, concern, and amusement.

"Look," said the brown-haired girl, shoving the piece of paper she was currently holding in her other hand. Taking the paper curiously, Ginny quickly scanned it, a small mischievous smirk gracing her features. "You're right, this is terrible," she replied with a smug grin. "But it's pretty good for us."

"What," Hermione emphasized the word with a nice bang of her forehead on the table, "in Godric's name is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that it's time for our plan to get back on track."

Hermione ignored Ginny, finding it impossible to decipher what she was trying to say. What plan? How could this possibly, in any way, be beneficial to her or anyone else? Grimacing, Hermione closed her eyes, shutting them tight in an effort to block out the world around her. No less than five minutes ago, a very somber looking Professor McGonagall had came over to the Gryffindor table, tapping Hermione on the shoulder to give her her new schedule for the year. The moment McGonagall had walked away, Hermione had quickly unfurled her schedule, and promptly proceeded to quietly damn herself to the pits of hell. Out of all her years at Hogwarts, she had never, ever had such a terrible schedule.

**Monday through Wednesday**- Free, Arithmancy with Ravenclaw, Ancient Runes with Slytherin, Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, Lunch, Double Dark Arts with Slytherin, Double Potions with Slytherin.

**Thursday**- Double Free, History of Magic with Hufflepuffs, Arithmancy with Ravenclaw, Lunch, Herbology with Hufflepuff, History of Magic with Ravenclaw, Double Transfiguration with Ravenclaw.

**Friday**- Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin, Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, Free, Herbology with Ravenclaw, Lunch, Double History of Magic with Slytherin and Ravenclaw, Double Potions with Slytherin.

"Ginny, I didn't even _want _Care of Magical Creatures. There's no point in taking it without Hagrid teaching it. I could honestly care less about having Professor Grubbly-Plank teaching us," grumbled Hermione, her voice slightly muffled by her hand. By now, she had propped both of her elbows on top of the table, resting her head on her hands. An embarrassing red mark adorned her forehead, and she rubbed at it angrily. "And practically all my classes are with Slytherin. I even have double Potions every day!"

"You don't have potions today! But yeah, I don't know what they're playing at," said Ginny cheerfully, plopping a large bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth as she did so. Still smiling happily to herself, she patted Hermione on the back. "It's okay 'Mione. You'll live. It's actually quite good you got this schedule."

A very frustrated Hermione could not take any of her cheeky hints any longer. "Okay Ginny. If you're not going to tell me what this brilliant plan of yours is, please don't bother mentioning it."

Ginny looked at her with a face likened to one of a deer in the headlights. "Calm, Hermione, calm. Don't worry. Look, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and I will tell you about it after classes end today. Besides, your schedule today isn't bad at all. No classes with Slytherin at the very least, though Transfiguration is going to be brutal." She frowned, her forehead crinkling. "I heard N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration with McGonagall is terrible. All of them leave the class with headaches."

Still grumbling to herself, Hermione shook her head. "At least they gave me one day of freedom. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be sane after the term ends."

Ginny shot her a look, her eyes suddenly turning a dark brown, as opposed to its usually light color. She gnawed on her lip for a moment, before clenching and unclenching her fist. "I don't know if any of us are going to come out of this sane," she said quietly, her tone dark.

Hermione turned away from the redhead, looking instead at the Slytherin table at the end of the Great Hall. She watched them snicker to themselves, no doubt making malicious jokes about other people. A particularly loud snort from Pansy Parkinson carried out from their table, her nasty, cackling laugh becoming the only thing that people could hear for a brief moment. Besides her, Draco Malfoy sat, banging his fist on the table. It was a disgusting sight.

She thought back to what Ginny had just said. "Amen," whispered Hermione quietly, so soft she wasn't sure Ginny could hear her. "Amen."

-

The day proved to be utterly boring. Perhaps the most interesting part of the day was Transfiguration, where McGonagall had progressed to teaching them harder and more advanced Transfiguration. They had gone a long way from their first year, where they only transformed a match into a needle. Today, they had learned about a new branch of Transfiguration that they previously hadn't been taught, called Substance Transfiguration. It was fairly complex magic, and Hermione sure enough found herself struggling for the first time ever at Hogwarts.

"Class, today, we are learning to transfigure Northland Pixies into its Scottish relative. Can someone tell me why this much more difficult than, say, transforming a normal cat into a frog?"

Hermione's hand shot up in the air, much to the Ravenclaws' amusement. "Ms. Granger?" asked Professor McGonagall, gesturing with her hand for her to answer.

"Its Scottish relative, also known as the Nuclid Pixies, are very similar in structure to the Northland Pixies in that they have more or less the same genetic makeup. Their blood serves the same purpose, that is, serving as an antidote to the Siberian Three-Fanged Corpus Snake. The Northland Pixies, however, contain a special substance in their blood that makes it resistant to many changes, one of which includes transfiguring it into something else. Because of this, they are found in even the most remote regions of the world." Hermione said all of this in one breath, her eyes shining with anticipation.

"Very good," said Professor McGonagall. "Five points to Gryffindor." She peered at Hermione over the rim of her glasses in the same motherly way she had back in the first year, and gave her one of her rare small smiles.

By the end of the class, unsurprisingly, only Hermione had managed to make any change at all to her Northland Pixie. She felt it was rather irritated, since it kept on snorting sparks and shaking its small red fist at her.

She hurried out, flinging her schoolbag over her shoulder, before scurrying down to the Great Hall to eat dinner. She was absolutely starved, and found herself wanting to not-so-politely devour a nice steak and kidney pie. While she hungrily carved into a rather large slice of it in front of her, Neville sat down opposite her, pulling a plate towards himself as well. "Hey Hermione," he said pleasantly.

"Mm," she mumbled in response, too preoccupied with the food in front of her.

"Your table manners have really gone down the drain," snickered Neville, amusement coloring his tone.

"Mhmm," Hermione mumbled again through a mouthful of pie.

"Ginny told me about this morning."

Finally swallowing down her food, Hermione looked up to fix Neville with a stare. "She has, has she?" she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Look Hermione, I'm, no, _we_, are very sorry for not telling you about what we've been doing. I figured since you were so tired, we could have told you some other time, but we did plan on telling you, and somewhere in the very near future."

Hermione cut him off, her eyes turning soft and warm. "No, Neville, you shouldn't apologize. It's been my fault really, I just got here and I shouldn't have overreacted like I did with Ginny."

"Would you ... could you ... could you tell us what you're doing with Harry and Ron? Anything that we could help with?" he asked, hope evident in his eyes.

Hermione sighed, feeling sad at how she couldn't give them any information at all. "You know I can't, Neville, and I'm so sorry for it. If it was up to me, I would tell all of you, every one of you, but Dumbledore told us that we couldn't. But I'm willing to help you guys in any way I can."

"That's brilliant Hermione. C'mon, let's go so we can tell you about what we're doing."

The two rose up from the table, walking quickly out of the Great Hall to avoid prying eyes. Unbeknownst to them, a pair of grey eyes watched their every moment closely, fists clenching and unclenching around his robes.

-

Later that night, up in the Room of Requirements, five students sat hunched around a small table, their heads close together as they discussed in hushed tones. Students talked loudly to one another in other corners, some laughing, some telling jokes to each other. Others sat in other corners of the room, quietly and diligently doing their homework. Some just read their books, the pages illuminated by the flickering candles spaced intermittently throughout the space. But the five students ignored them, absorbed in their own little bubble to pay much attention to the world around them.

"Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" asked Seamus, his shoulders hunched forward.

Neville took over from there, talking quickly. "We were informed by certain members of the Order that Voldemort plans to recruit a fresh wave of Death Eaters into his ranks, starting with the seventh-year students at Hogwarts and some younger people that have already graduated from years past." Hermione gasped at this information, surprised that people were already become Death Eaters at such a young age.

"Sadly, that was about all the information they had. We don't know who, when, or where this is going to happen. We've tried unsuccessfully to spy on the Slytherins, hear snippets of their conversations, but they've remained quiet on the subject," Neville continued.

"Absolutely mum," said Dean glumly.

"When we figured that spying on them wouldn't be much of a success, we tried to ... well," Neville paused, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment, "we tried to threaten them, which turned out quite badly."

"It got us two months in detention with the Carrows, it was absolutely terrible," cried Ginny, her hair flying everywhere in her anger.

"Did you honestly think that was going to succeed?" asked Hermione, poking fun at them. She still felt sympathy for her friends though, sure that detention with the Carrows was not one that was enjoyed.

They ignored her question, choosing instead to grimace and look away. Neville continued. "Well, now that you're here and your schedule is so conveniently filled with classes with the Slytherins, we thought maybe you could, you know, befriend one of them and weasel out some information."

Silence rang heavy around the group of five, before Hermione broke it with a sharp intake of breath. "You guys must be absolutely mental. I'm one of Harry's best friends, and Malfoy hates me already, along with probably the whole of Slytherin house. You can't possibly think that they would like me, let alone be my friend."

"I know it sounds bad right now," said Ginny, looking at Hermione with wary eyes. "But there is a slight chance of success. Anything is possible. Just give it a try."

Hermione sat back in her seat, crossing her arms. There really wasn't a choice. What was she going to say, no? She agreed to help in any way she could, no matter how stupid or hair-brained the idea was. She had a duty to do, and she had to fulfill it. She looked up at the expectant and eager eyes of her peers, all of them staring at her. "Alright," she sighed. "I'll do it."

Dean's face broke into a large smile. "That's great, Hermione."

"But first," she held up a hand, before all of them could get too excited, "We need to know any people that might become a Death Eater. There's no use in just going into this blind without any information to go on."

"That's where Harry helped us," said Seamus brightly, pulling out an old copy of a newspaper.

"Harry?" blinked Hermione questioningly, unsure of where they were going with this. "How did Harry help?"

"Remember the interview he did with The Quibbler? He exposed the names of Death Eaters, and lucky for us, four of them have sons in this school right now, in our seventh year. If we were to hedge our bets on who would become future Death Eaters," Seamus snickered to himself, "it would be on them."

Hermione didn't need to read the article. She already knew the names of the people Harry had exposed. "Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott," she said firmly.

"Exactly," affirmed Neville.

"Wait, I still don't know who this Nott person is," cut in Dean, evidently confused.

Hermione answered him. "He's this tall Slytherin. Last time I saw him, he was quite gangly, like Ron."

Ginny let out an unexpected giggle, and a very girly giggle at that. All the guys stared at her questioningly, eyebrows arched up. "He's not gangly anymore. He's ... ah ... muscled up. He's quite cute, really."

Dean's eyebrow twitched. Neville looked at her in amazement. "You're dating Harry, Ginny!"

"That doesn't mean that I can't think of someone else as attractive!" said Ginny, getting on the defensive. "I don't want to date him or anything. It's just an observation! And there are other cute guys too, not just him!"

Hermione smacked her palm on her head in a show of frustration. "Oh my God," she ground out. The others around her just shook their heads, turning away from the Weasley.

They all ignored the indignant cries of "Oh come on" and "I'm just a girl," coming from the clearly frustrated redhead. Ginny was smart, funny, intelligent, slightly shallow though only at times, but above all, she possessed the uncanny ability to make people feel awkward. She was, without a doubt, a very effective conversation stopper.

-

Draco Malfoy was known for his quick temper, and nothing could get him more riled up than Harry Potter or any one of his obscenely irritating friends. And for some morbid reason, the universe had decided to play games with him, sending the only other person that could get him as mad as the Boy Who Lived himself: the damn Mudblood Hermione Granger. When he first saw the familiar bushy brown hair, he couldn't believe it. Surely, _surely _he was mistaken. There was no way in bloody hell that his father, Professor Snape, or Lord Voldemort for that matter would let Hermione Granger into Hogwarts again.

If they didn't think that she would devise some cock-and-bull plan to bring down everything that his family had sacrificed for, then they were outright fools. The whole lot of them, even the Dark Lord himself.

He paced around the Slytherin common room, his footsteps making patterns on the rich, green and silver carpet below him. Dim, green light filtered in from the ceiling, casting shimmering light around the space. Awards given to Slytherin house were placed around the room, some on top of drawers, some on their own pedestals, each reflecting the light that shone on their polished surfaces. Dark leather sofas were arranged around a large, square coffee-table, which was currently filled with newspaper clippings and notes. The familiar surroundings usually helped calm the blond's nerves, but right now, it did nothing to quell his frantic and hectic emotional state.

"Draco, stop pacing or you'll rub holes in the carpet," said Blaise Zabini, his voice drifting up from where he was currently sitting on the floor, back pressed against the bottom of an armchair. His white teeth gleamed in the relatively dim light, a sharp contrast to his caramel colored skin. He had taken off his school robes, wearing instead a simple white t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid dark blue boxers. A few girls sitting across the room giggled and looked at him shyly, and he shot them a small wink and a smile.

"Blaise, stop flirting and listen to what I'm fucking saying!" yelled the immensely irritated Draco, who was damn well close to ripping all his hair out. Blaise quirked up a single eyebrow at him, but nonetheless turned his body toward him, indicating that he was listening. "Granger's planning something, I know it. She and Longbottom have got something up their sleeve, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

A disinterested sigh came from another person, mirroring Blaise's position on the floor. He, instead, was still wearing his Hogwarts uniform, minus the black wizards robe. The first button of his white shirt was undone, his tie hanging loose around his neck, giving him more of a relaxed look, though he still looked pristine. "Draco, don't get into a hissy fit and try to corner Granger every time you see her. Half of us already think you've got quite a fancy for her," he smirked, looking at Draco Malfoy with piercing grey eyes.

The blond let out a strangled cry, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. "I most certainly do NOT have a crush on Granger," he gritted out through his teeth. "And if I were you, Theo, I would be helping me find out just what they're up to."

This time, Theodore Nott stopped joking around. He stared at Draco expressionless, once again climbing back into the uninterested persona that he usually portrayed. "Draco, if you're trying to say that my family name does not hold any more respect, then I'm sorry to say that you're woefully incorrect. I, unlike you, do not have to fear the Dark Lord," he said mechanically, staring at a blank patch of wall across from him.

Draco grew more incensed at Theodore Nott. The two of them were either the best of friends or the greatest of enemies, and it seemed like they were heading toward a rough patch. In more ways than one, he and Theo were similar in their situations, but at the same time, they were also hopelessly different from one another. It was often their deep rooted resentment for their respective situations that caused them to become allies, but it was also their respective situations that set them apart from each other. Both of their pasts were complicated, something that Theo, more so than Draco, was not so keen to discuss.

A heavy silence fell between the three friends. Even Blaise, who often ignored the periods of rough tension between Draco and Theo, knew that this was a different type of tension. Sure, they argued about pretty miniscule things like homework, but if the conversation ever got to their family or their status in the pure-blood hierarchy, the two were as volatile as hippogriffs when insulted. Draco was staring daggers at Theo, his grey eyes boring into Theo's equally grey ones. Theo's posture and face portrayed relative calm, his face expressionless, but Blaise knew better: Theo's fists were clenched with the effort it took him to not strike out at Draco.

Theo stood up abruptly. "I'm going to bed," he said, his tone still devoid of any emotion. He nodded his head at Blaise, and gave Draco one last piercing look before striding up the steps of the Slytherin common room into the boys dormitories.

Draco waited until he was out of earshot, when he banged his fist on the table in front of him, frightening a couple of first years in the process. "I swear, Theo is such a fucking prick. What the fuck is his problem? 'I, unlike you, do not have to fear the Dark Lord,'" mocked Draco, quoting Theo. "The fuck was that supposed to mean?"

Blaise knew better than to respond. Instead, he made a noncommittal grunt, averting his eyes from the blonde standing in front of him. He nervously scratched his shoulder, unsure of what exactly Draco wanted.

-

Theodore Nott twisted and turned in his bed, falling victim once again to the nightmares that had plagued him since he was eight years old. Flashes of green light, a loud, draining scream that seemed to suck the very happiness out of the air, a desperate plea for help, and then a deafening silence pressing in on his eardrums that seemed to stretch for eternity.

His eyes flew open, his body sat bolt upright on its own accord. He cursed softly. The dreams were becoming more common ever since the start of the school term, making almost nightly appearances. To his dismay, he found himself covered in cold sweat. He pushed away the heavy blanket and swung his legs over his bed to carefully and silently walk to the washroom. He passed one of two windows in the room, and stared out to look at the starry, inky black sky. Clouds were creeping over the still dark horizon, a foreboding sign of a big storm to come. Before his eyes, a flash of lightning illuminated the dark sky for a split second.

He shuffled his way to the washroom, lighting the two lamps that provided just enough light to dimly illuminate his surroundings. He stared back at his reflection in the mirror. The reoccuring nightmares had taken a toll on his physical health- he had deep black circles under his eyes, and he looked paler than usual. His eyes flicked over to the clock on the other side of the wall, noting that it was 2:16 in the early morning. He took a quick cold shower, washing away the sweat.

When he walked out of the bathroom, he nearly tripped over the figure of Draco Malfoy sitting near the entrance. "Fuck, Draco," Theo muttered, toweling dry his hair as he sat down next to the blonde. Both of the two boys didn't speak for a long time, only the occasional rumble of distant thunder filling the silence that hung between the two Slytherins.

Draco was the first to break the silence. He spoke without looking at Theo, his eyes still fixed on the window. "Why won't you help me?" His voice was strained, confused, angry ... frustrated. Despite the obvious tension that he and Theo usually had, they would always eventually see eye to eye with each other. He should know how important restoring his family's honor was to Draco, how much he needed to improve his family's position in the pureblood ranks to ensure their eventual safety from the wrath of the Dark Lord.

What left Draco baffled and more than a little resentful was how Theo always refused to help him whenever he brought up the Golden Trio.

"Well?" asked Draco, his voice raising a little louder than it normally would have been.

Theo stared at a blank space on the wall before answering him. "Everyone has their secrets, Draco," he said quietly, before turning his face to the blonde, staring him straight in the eye. "Let Granger keep hers."

Theo continued to look at Draco, looking for a sign that he understood. Draco's eyes widened a bit, his pupils dilating as he finally took in what Theo was saying.

"You understand?" asked Theo, still staring at Draco.

The blonde looked away, avoiding Theo's eyes because he knew Theo would see right through his lies. "Yeah," he said softly, "yeah, I understand."

But as Theo and Draco both crawled back under the covers of their bed, Draco looked at the blank ceiling above, his hands occasionally fisting the material that covered his body. His teeth clenched as he held the urge to yell and scream, to punch and kick. It was not unnatural for him to become volatile, angry, but this tantrum was different. It wasn't the blind rage that he usually experienced, the kind that seems to permeate through every single fiber of your being.

No, this was very different. It was rage mixed with sadness, an emptiness that seemed to have opened up in the middle of his gut. He tried to push the feeling out, tried to fill that void with something else, but it refused to go away. It gnawed at him, taunted him. He was incensed at Theo. He understood where he was coming from, understood why exactly he wouldn't help him. His past still haunted him, evident today when he saw Theo awake from his nightmare. There was something that stopped Theo, held him back from doing things that Draco would have done. It gave Theo control. It gave him the ability to relate to others, an understanding, almost an unspoken promise between him and others that Draco lacked.

Yes, Draco lacked the sympathy that Theo held for others.

It was precisely for that reason that Draco could not forgive Theo. Because even though he understood what Theo meant, why he couldn't help him, it meant that Draco was utterly alone. Theo was his companion, the person that always kept him grounded. And with Theo gone, who was Draco to turn to other than himself, his own worst enemy? Draco mourned silently to himself, a dull aching still present.

Unbeknownst to Draco, Theo was going through the same thing. He heard Draco's deep intakes of breath, heard him trying to calm himself down. Their relationship with each other was so strong that it seemed as if they could feel what each other was feeling. He knew that Draco wouldn't forgive him for his decision, and if Theo was going to be honest with himself, he didn't know why he was pushing away Draco. He didn't know why Granger provoked something in him like a lost memory, a constant tugging in the back of his mind, beckoning him in.

Theo almost pitied the Granger girl. When he saw her in the Great Hall the previous night, he did not see a strong woman that could weather any storm that threw itself at her. No, that was what Granger tried to portray herself as, and it seemed to work on the vast majority of students ... except Theo. He saw a broken woman, protecting herself in the only way she knew how. He saw a girl still uncertain of what the future held, but willing herself to push forward because it was the only thing she thought she could do.

Theo wasn't saying that Granger was weak; there was no possible way that Granger could be described as weak. But Granger had a complicated past, a traumatic event or events that Theo thought might have affected her more than she let on. There was no doubt that she held a secret, and she most certainly did not want anyone to discover it.

And Theo sympathized with her.

Maybe it was his past, his experiences that enabled Theo to read people so easily, or at least better than other people. Because Theo was like Granger in a way, in that they both had such complicated pasts or experiences that severely altered who they were. The difference between who they would have been had the events not happened, and the person they were now was astounding.

Of course, Theo had never talked to Granger; these were just the thoughts that seemed to drift through his mind as he glazed blankly at the ceiling above him.

He didn't know when it happened, but as the time stretched into the early morning hours, he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to be soothed by the blank darkness that enveloped his mind.

-

The Great Hall bustled with noise, as students piled in for breakfast. Hermione ambled her way into the Great Hall, stretching and yawning, oblivious to the stares she was receiving. Whispers and hisses broke out as the passed the Slytherin table, some jeering and gesturing rudely at her. She paid them no heed, and as a result, she didn't notice a certain Slytherin looking at her with something remarkably like interest, while another one looked at her with something bordering disgust.

She sat herself down at the Gryffindor table, grabbing a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages. Her friends were still sleeping, since they had first period free. She ate her breakfast in silence, distancing herself from the other Gryffindors. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate their company, she really did, but she had a lot on her mind and rather fancied to have the morning to herself to think.

Ever since Neville, Ginny, Dean, and Seamus and told her about their absolutely ridiculous plan, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She felt apprehensive, unsure how she was going to approach Nott. She supposed that she could utter a simple hello, maybe strike up a conversation, but knowing Nott's history and blood status, she doubted that such an advance would be welcome.

BOOM.

A bright flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room, which was previously dimly lit by thousands of flickering candles. Several people jumped in their seats, the clatter of knives falling to the floor ringing around the vast hall for a moment. The bewitched ceiling was filled with ominous dark grey clouds, an almost purple sheen about them. It was unnerving, one of the largest and most violent storms that had rolled through this part of Britain. Another flash of lightning, another rumble of thunder.

Hermione looked at her schedule again, noting wryly that she had Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology today, both outdoor subjects. She glanced morosely at the ceiling again, as she speared another piece of sausage with her fork. But at that moment, Headmaster Snape stood up, his face twisted into an unpleasant sneer. (Then again, when was his face ever not in some expression of disgruntlement?) Next to him, Professor McGonagall was looking up at him expectantly, with the same withering look she reserved for students, her eyes peering at Snape over her spectacles.

Snape cleared his throat as he slowly turned to face the students. Everyone stopped their talking and looked at him, their eyes wide in surprise. The headmaster cleared his throat once more, before opening his mouth to speak. His dull, monotonous, nasally voice filled the room. "All outdoor classes are cancelled for today. Please," he said, his eyes lingering on a few select students, "please do not linger in the hallways. Every student should return to their dormitories or common rooms if their class has been cancelled."

His eyes roamed around the hall, finally resting on Hermione. "Anyone found outside in the hallways doing any _suspicious _activity will be punished."

No one dared clap or cheer, something they usually would have done had Dumbledore still been Headmaster ... had Dumbledore still been alive. And so the day passed by relatively slowly, nothing extraordinary happening. Hermione soon found herself in double History of Magic with the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but Professor Binns (who still continued to teach like there wasn't a war going on) had placed Hermione at the front of the room. She could not, unfortunately, turn around and observe the Slytherins. She didn't even know if Theodore Nott was going to be in any of her classes, if he had even signed up for the same classes she had. Well, then again, she had only one full day of school, almost two after the day was finished.

And so she entered double Potions with a mixture of apprehensiveness and dread, feeling completely unprepared for what might await her.

She was so nervous, in fact, she didn't notice that she was late for her Potions class until she walked into the dungeon, seeing only a few backs turned to her. A bemused voice spoke from the front of the room, and her head snapped up in response. "Ah, Miss Granger!" said Professor Slughorn jovially, beaming at Hermione, "I presume you have all your potions books?"

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione, gesturing to her bag.

"Excellent, excellent," replied Slughorn, beaming once more. "Now, you can go take a seat right behind Mr. Nott there, yes, right there," he said, pointing at an empty seat.

Hermione shuffled her way to the seat and sat down quietly, never once taking her eyes off the back of Theodore Nott. She still hadn't seen his face yet, but from what she could tell from the back, he was tall, maybe around 6'3". He had brown hair, tussled hair, but they were expertly swept to one side. The muscles of his back seemed to stretch his school uniform, and Hermione could see the contours of his body.

Okay, Hermione admitted it. She was intrigued, but intimidated at the same time.

After a few minutes of observing (or eyeballing) Theodore Nott's somewhat (okay extremely) attractive back, Hermione let her eyes wander around the classroom. It was a small class, with only four Gryffindors (not including herself), two Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and three Slytherins (Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott). She glared at the back of Malfoy, recognizing him instantly by his platinum blonde hair.

Professor Slughorn's voice brought her out of her thoughts. "Can someone tell me what a Restorative Potion is?"

Almost as if it was an automatic reflex, Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"A Restorative Potion is the only antidote to the Draught of Living Death. It's extremely hard to make because every ingredient has to be measured to its precise amount. A single gram too heavy and it'll render the potion completely useless. It is also considered a difficult potion to make simply because of how rare its ingredients are, for example, the liver of a Snockleburk, a water-dwelling creature found only on the remote coasts of Novascotia."

In front of her, Theodore Nott couldn't help but smirk. Blaise looked at him inquisitively but Theo ignored him.

"Excellent, Ms. Granger! Take ten points for Gryffindor!" Professor Slughorn turned back to the rest of the class. "As Miss Granger has just wonderfully explained, the Restorative Potion is the only known antidote to the Draught of Living Death. It's extremely hard to make, and the N.E.W.T. level examinations will most definitely ask you questions about the process. Therefore, today, we will be making the Restorative Potion. Please pair up with your partner, and get started."

With a flick of his wand, the blackboard at the front of the room filled with instructions and the lists of ingredients needed for the potion.

Hermione, feeling silly, raised her hand. Professor Slughorn bustled over, and smiled kindly down at her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't ... I don't really have a partner."

"That's no problem!" boomed Professor Slughorn genially. "You can be Mr. Nott's partner from now on."

Quietly, hesitantly, Hermione grabbed her books and her bag and sat down next to Theodore Nott. She carefully arranged them in an orderly fashion before finally looking at the person sitting next to her. She found stormy grey eyes looking at her, with the same type of piercing stare that Dumbledore usually gave his students. His forehead was slightly furrowed, a tiny crease in between his eyebrows. He didn't look at her fully; rather, he was looking at her sideways, almost like he was carefully observing her.

Hermione felt herself flush and she bit her lip out of habit. Theodore Nott looked at the girl with unabashed curiosity. She had big, chocolate brown eyes, her long eyelashes sweeping with every blink she took. Her cheeks were slightly red, her lips pink from her constant gnawing. He saw her fists clench now and then. She looked ... shy. Unsure. But what she was unsure about, he didn't know.

Try as hard as he might, though, there was a little part of him, a small crying voice in the back of his mind, that yearned to learn more about her, to discover her secrets.

Of course, that would've been hypocritical of Theo, since he kept on telling off Draco for exactly the same thing.

Hermione watched the boy that was looking at her, and finally took in the whole of his face (not only his eyes). His tussled brown hair, his perfectly straight nose, the defined dark brown eyebrows, his full lips, all blended together to form one undoubtedly good looking teenager. At the same time, she also noticed the dark purple circles under her eyes, and found herself wondering to herself what could be costing the teenager his sleep. She willed herself to speak, to get on with the plan that Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Ginny had so brilliantly thought up.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger," she said confidently, holding out her hand.

Theodore Nott continued to look at her, but this time, his expression changed to a dull, uninterested mask. He was secretly surprised at how strong Granger's voice was, how there was no trace of a quiver at all in her tone. It was confident and challenging at the same time. She was ... more complicated than he had anticipated. But there were more pressing matters at hand. He looked at her outstretched arm, before turning back to look at the ingredients on the table. "Theodore Nott," he said carelessly, not bothering to stare at her anymore.

Slowly, Hermione pulled back her hand. It was obvious he wasn't going to shake it. She didn't like him already. His voice was deep, smooth, reverberating, powerful yet soft, but emotionless, like a robot. It wasn't monotonous, just empty of any feeling. It wasn't even politely disinterested. It was just ... nothing. She turned away from him, mimicking his position, the tension between them palpable.

"Let's prepare the ingredients first," she said wryly, distaste coloring her tone. "Mmm," came his response, and Hermione took it as a sign of approval.

Hermione peered at him from the corner of her eyes while they set on working together quietly, never once speaking to each other. She was taken aback at what she saw. When Theodore Nott worked, he wasn't the same uninterested person that he put himself out to be. His grey eyes shone brightly, the same light Hermione was sure was present whenever she was working. It was the thrill of learning, of doing something new, a temporary drink to quell the insatiable thirst for knowledge. His hands, his long fingers, worked delicately, touched the potions ingredients with a sort of care that Hermione wouldn't have believed possible. The cuts he administered to the root of the martle plant were so precise, so careful, that the pieces were almost, if not exactly, the same.

These were the signs of a potions master; and even more, the signs of a scholar.

She started to feel a grudging admiration for Theodore Nott. No matter how rude he was, Hermione saw the talent and potential that Theodore Nott possessed. "Ready?" she asked as Nott finished his last cut. He looked up, momentarily taken off guard by her question. It was the first glimpse Hermione had of the real Theodore Nott. He forgot to put on his mask, and instead, she saw real emotion. His eyes still shone, eyebrows were arched up high, and a single stray lock of his short hair hung out of place.

He recovered quickly, much to Hermione's dismay. "Yeah," he said quietly, before he took Hermione's ingredients and slowly started to add them to the bubbling potion in front of them. It hissed menacingly as the gizzard of a Norwegian blue-snout disappeared into its frothing depths. Hermione stirred slowly, letting the ingredients mix together evenly and thoroughly.

Suddenly, a very familiar voice hissed from behind her and she whirled around. Draco Malfoy stood behind her, an ugly sneer on his face. "Better be careful, Mudblood," he said acidly. "Where are Potter and Weasley? Couldn't stand your obnoxious attitude anymore? Go live with your filthy muggle parents, Granger. Nobody wants you back."

"Don't!" she yelled shrilly. "Don't talk about my parents!"

He smirked, his cold eyes boring into Hermione's flashing brown ones. "I feel bad for you, Theo," he said, turning to look at the brown-haired teenager. "I would sooner die than work with her."

"Than do that!" yelled Hermione angrily.

"Fuck you, Granger," Draco hissed into her ear, before he returned back to his own table.

Hermione was so furious, she started to stir the potion with much more vigor than she intended to. She mumbled under her breath, silently cursing the sick, obnoxious, egotistical blonde. She wasn't even paying attention to the potion anymore, and as a result, she accidentally got a significant amount of potion onto Theodore Nott's impeccably clean school uniform.

In an almost comical way, Theodore Nott stared down at his ruined shirt, then looked at Hermione. She was horror-struck, one hand covering her mouth as the other gripped the ladle she was using tightly. "I'm so sorry!" she squeaked out, staring at the spot on his shirt and his potion covered hands.

He grabbed a nearby towel that was always there in case of spills, and hurriedly wiped his hands clean. Hermione stared on with horror as it revealed red, raw skin beneath. The potion had burned his skin, leaving angry blotches along his arm.

"I'm so sorry!" she said again, hurrying to wipe his shirt for him. He grabbed her hand, and for a moment, Hermione went still, the warmth of his hand spreading through her arm and into her body. She was struck by the softness of his hands, how warm they were, before she shook herself awake.

"Granger, it's okay," he said, before taking out his wand and pointing it at his shirt. "Scourgify," he said, and the stain on his shirt disappeared.

"But your arm!" whispered Hermione.

"I'll go to Madam Pomfrey," said Theodore, about to get up.

"Wait!" Hermione said suddenly. She grabbed her bag from the floor and hoisted it onto her lap, emptying some of its contents onto the table. She stuck her arm into it, searching for something, when she finally found it. She pulled out her bottle of dittany, before carefully holding his arm. She said another "I'm so sorry" when she saw him wince. She carefully let two drops of the dittany drip onto his arm, and watched with her breath held in her chest as the skin carefully healed itself.

"Thanks," he said, staring at Hermione's still bowed head.

"I'm really really sorry!" she repeated again, lifting her head to look at him.

"Granger, really, it's okay," he said earnestly. "I'm fine."

Hermione bit her lip again before realizing she was still holding his hand. She hastily let that go before awkwardly turning back to the potion. Theodore Nott stared at her for a moment before turning back to the potion again, his mind going a mile a minute. They worked in silence, both not speaking to each other. Professor Slughorn stopped all of the students' work an hour later, and came around bottling the contents of their cauldrons to store for the next potions class when they would continue their work.

Hermione was packing her bags when Theodore Nott spoke to her. "You know, you should just ignore Draco."

She looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"Just ignore Draco. He's just upset." He gave her one of his piercing stares, his grey eyes looking into her brown eyes. "Don't let it get to you," he said softly, before he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of class.

Hermione stared at his retreating figure, utterly dumbfounded at the Theodore Nott's behavior. She picked up the rest of her stuff, and walked slowly out of the room, his departing words still repeating themselves in her head.

**Thanks for reading; reviews are always appreciated!**


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